Remember?
by sky.guinalie
Summary: Post-winter soldier. Bucky came back, but he's still not adjusted to the flashes of memory he's getting. He's never sure of anything now, and Steve really, really wants to help. Can he reinforce the memories for Bucky by remembering them himself, even if they hurt? Short little Stucky ficlet or whatever.


"So you don't remember… anything?"

Bucky sighed. His gaze was blank, but it wasn't the empty stare of the Soldier. It was just him, really him, thinking. "It comes in… bits. Sort of. They don't make much sense and they're not in order. They're just… there."

"Sorry, stupid question," Steve said quickly, looking down. Bucky had only just let himself be found, at last. He didn't want to push it.

"S'fine," murmured Bucky, running a hand through his hair. He kept vaguely mentioning that he should probably cut it, but he never got around to it. "What I've got right now is- did I live up high?"

Steve didn't really understand this, a question out of the blue. "What do you mean?"

"Y'know. Back in Brooklyn." Bucky shifted, now sitting more comfortably.

Steve hadn't really noted this before, but it made him really happy to see Bucky doing things for himself, not just what people tell him to do. "Well, yeah. Third floor, I think."

Bucky nodded slowly. "It's just- this- this memory. I don't even know if it ever really happened, but it's… so clear. Can I-?"

Steve closed his eyes, feeling his jaw tighten. "Don't ask. Please, don't ask. You don't need to ask."

"Okay…" Bucky licked his lips, as if confused why Steve would want that, but he continued. "So I'm standing outside my apartment, my- my home. And it's early in the morning, so the sky is grey and it's not too hot yet. An' I'm just standing there, and you're there too." He looked at Steve, then back down at his metal hand. "You're there, and we ain't talking. We're looking out, out at the city, leanin' over the railing. I guess there's a railing so we don't…" He stopped, and a flash of something bad crossed his eyes. "So we don't fall. An' there we are, quiet as anythin'. Just… being there. We've got a mug of somethin'. Tea. Coffee. Somethin'. It's just one, but we- we share. An' when I looked over at you, you- you were smilin'. I didn't know why. You didn't look back at me or nothin', you just looked out. It made me happy." He looked up again. "Tell me that's right. Tell me that actually happened, that you remember it too. Please."

Steve couldn't say anything. He remembered. Hell, he remembered clear as if it was yesterday. But right now, he just couldn't believe how easily that voice slipped back to Brooklyn. It wasn't cold, it wasn't anything that Bucky himself wasn't. It was how it used to be, when it was just the two of them in the heart of the city. That lilt, that New York accent. Moreover, how could Hydra - anyone - take away such a voice? Such a character? Such a goddamn person? He was squeezing his hands into fists now, but he didn't care.

"I… it's not real, is it," Bucky said, snapping Steve back to the present. It wasn't even a question. It was just a small, fragile, broken man stating on his own what would kill him to hear from someone else. Just saving himself the pain, because god knows he's had enough of that for a lifetime.

Steve tried to look Bucky in the eye, but it hurt. "Nah, it's real. You remembered."

"You're just saying that," Bucky snapped, his stare cold. "I'm only staying here with you because you said you wouldn't lie to me and I-" He stood up, slamming his metal hand down on the table as his voice crescendoed to a yell. "-don't need your pity!"

The words ripped through Steve like bullets. "No, I'm not trying to-" He stopped protesting and spoke softly. "The drink. It was coffee, not tea." He looked up at Bucky's face, which was still hard with anger. This was something he'd seen a bit before.

It wasn't full Soldier, it was Bucky turning to that twisted warrior when he had nothing else to go on. He personally didn't know how to react, so it was the Soldier's anger, the Soldier's paranoia.

"Coffee," Steve repeated. "My doctor said I shouldn't drink it, but I did anyway." He chuckled, thinking back. "You agreed with him, but you were okay with it once you realized I wasn't gonna listen to you. And, yeah, the sky was grey. But underneath it was so much more, a little bit of blue, a little bit of gold, a Brooklyn sunrise. I wasn't looking away because I was trying to memorize the color. It was crazy beautiful, and I, uh… I wanted to paint your eyes that color later, when I had time and a good brush and canvas. Remember now? It was real, you… you got it right."

Bucky was still standing, but he looked like he was about to crumple to the floor. His shoulders looked too small and his bottom lip was trembling. He looked down at Steve and his eyes were so sad. So sad. He inhaled, his breath hitching as tears burning the backs of his eyes.

Steve stood up too and grabbed him, pulling him in.

Bucky sighed deeply and shakily into Steve's shirt, closing his eyes and willing himself not to cry. "I'm so s-sorry. I didn't mean to- to do that. I almost-" His voice broke. "I almost hit you. I don't wanna hurt anyone any-anymore and I-"

"Stop it, Buck," Steve murmured, once again pushing back his hate for Hydra.

"That's just it, though."

"Just what?"

"I can't stop myself, I just- I can't," Bucky whispered. He refused to look up. Because whatever sunrise color his eyes used to be, he knew all they were now was Winter. And he couldn't stop.

Steve stepped back, holding Bucky at arm's length. "You know who's responsible for that? Not you, Bucky. Anyone but you. Hell, it's me. I couldn't cover an extra two inches and reach your hand in time. And I'm so, so sorry."

Bucky was quiet for the longest time. All he wanted was to be back against Steve, where he didn't have to face any of the things he'd done, or the things he was going to do. "But it was real? It really- it really happened? That morning, on the balcony?"

The Brooklyn accent was gone, but Steve didn't care. Bucky was back. The accent would follow. And he, Steve, would wait as long as it took till Bucky was whole again. "Yep. Really happened."

A slight grin crossed Bucky's face. "Why didn't you just listen to your god damn doctor, Stevie?" he asked. His voice weak and unstable but his smile held strong, an anchor in the rough wake left by Hydra.

Steve laughed. It sounded heartbroken, but it was really the opposite, it was… it was his heart coming back together after seventy years. And yeah, it hurt, but it hurt good. "Maybe… Maybe cause I don't need a doctor now, and old me somehow knew I wouldn't. Maybe, way back then, I sensed a change in the wind." _Like I do now. You're going to get better, Buck. I'll fix you._

"It was still stupid," Bucky muttered. "Coulda- coulda, what, died or somethin'?"

"Well, I didn't," said Steve, his voice quiet. "And I'm not gonna, so get used to me sticking around. Cause, you know, I'm not gonna let you fall again. I've gotta be there to catch you this time, Buck."

Bucky met Steve's eyes for the longest time in days. A faint smile was playing on his face, just one corner of his mouth hitched up a few degrees. But after seventy years of Winter, that little smile was just about enough to strike the spark that would kickstart the fire he used to have burning in his eyes. The spark that made him alive.

And Steve, looking into those eyes… All he saw was that Brooklyn sunrise all those years ago. That sunrise, and, of course, Bucky Barnes.


End file.
